


Change for Me

by Quinnattack



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Angst, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Freaky Friday - Freeform, Friends to Lovers, Gay Keith (Voltron), Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Korean Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Lance and Keith switch bodies, Multi, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Keith/Lance (Voltron), Voltron, klance, switch bodies, vld
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-07-01 10:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15772182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinnattack/pseuds/Quinnattack
Summary: “You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.”-C. S. Lewis+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +Lance McClain; A Boston Wall-Street type. Climbing the corporate ladder, his career is his number one-priority.Keith Kogane; A retired boxer, trying keep his name off the streets. Don’t let anyone close if all they’ll do is hurt you.What happens when they switch bodies?





	1. Chapter 1

_Do you believe people can change?_

 

Not as in a person changing their clothing, or the color of their hair, or their taste in music. The kind of change that makes a liar tell the truth, makes a killer save a life…

 

The kind that makes a bad person good.

 

Lance stared down at his styrofoam cup. The cheap coffee steamed, even though it had probably been sitting in the AA-room’s thermos for hours. Days even. At this point, Lance didn’t know how he got here.

 

He looked down, noticing himself wearing the same thing as yesterday; a simple blue hoodie with black jeans and white sneakers. (although white is used generously given how much dirt was caked on them.) Lance took a sip, the hot liquid burning the top of his tongue as it slid down to his throat.

 

 _Decaf._ Lance swallowed, knowing that this coffee would do nothing for his swollen eyes, his throbbing head, or his sore limbs. But Lance was tired. He’d been tired for a long time.

 

He looked up from his coffee and peered around the silent room. The room resembled a church basement straight out of the dark ages known as 70’s architecture, almost to a point of surrealness.

           

If there was anything more depressing than the fading, mustard yellow wall-paper, the souls that slumped in the chairs forming a circle in the middle of the room took the cake. Each and every one of them as tired and lost as the next. They could’ve been the poster-children for saddest AA meeting ever.

 

20 minutes after the meeting should have begun, most of the members had snacked through their second share of dollar-tree coffee and stale, maple donuts.

 

Lance wondered if these people noticed the coffee was decaf too.

 

Suddenly, a man burst through the gym doors. He was tall; slim yet muscular in places that showed he was fit for a lean guy. The man wore an oversized grey sweater paired with acid wash jeans cuffed at the heels, and a worn-down set of converse. His faded smile was spread across his face as he entered the room, making everyone in their chairs slowly straighten up.

 

“Sorry I’m late everyone.” The man walked calmly over to an empty chair while thumbing through loose papers. Once he settled the stack, he glanced up, first staring at familiar faces and smiling; giving short hellos here and there.

 

As his eyes moved around the circle, he stopped forcefully; making eye-contact directly with Lance.

 

His face shifted from a warm, inviting friendliness to a cold, unforgiving gaze. Keith Kogane was burning holes into Lance McClain’s eyes. Keith’s eye’s twitched from a burning rage as his hands began to crumple his stack of papers.

 

This was the first time Lance could get a good look at Keith. His knuckles were bleeding, his hair a complete bed-head mess, and his jeans had grass stains on the knees. Keith’s freckles popped in comparison to the redness of his eyes, and the dullness of his skin. _So, he’d been up all night too._

 

Just as fast as the rage swirled in Keith’s eyes, a wash of sorrow filled them. Lance could see Keith’s shoulders drop and eyes fall to the floor; defeated. For what seems like the longest seconds in Lance’s life, the room grew quiet as everyone watched Keith struggle to look up from a crack in the concrete.

 

Keith blinked a few times, water forming at his eyes. A quick sniff and a roll of his shoulders sent Keith to straighten up, peering once again into Lance’s regretful eyes.

 

“Welcome everyone. I’m glad to see you all back for another meeting.” Keith sighed to the crowd, now avoiding Lance at all costs. As if Lance wasn’t there. _But they both knew Lance wasn’t going to be ignored_.

 

“Today’s going to be a little different, I’ve had a couple of personal issues this week. This month actually,” Keith’s eyes darted back to Lance, once again sending a furious stare. Lance shivered under Keith’s cold gaze, and soon Lance found himself looking over at the box of expired donuts. _Boy, did I mess up_ , Lance thought.

 

Keith continued speaking to the group, his eyes never leaving Lance, “Why don’t we start off around the circle for new comers. Your name, how you feel.”

 

One by one the group members listed off their names and emotions. Hi, I’m Jake. Hi Jake. I’m feeling good. Hi I’m Yuso. Hi Yuso. I’m feeling a little tired. _Aren’t we all_ , Lance thought. Hi I’m Kenneth. Hi Kenneth. I’m feeling a little stressed lately.

 

Lance’s mind wandered as he watched the box of donuts, trying to read the labels, count the sprinkles- _anything_ that would shake the anxiety from Keith staring through Lance. It wasn’t until he heard someone cough, did Lance realize the room had been silent for a solid minute.

 

Waiting for him.

 

Lance whipped his head around, matching the stares of everyone in the circle. He swallowed hard. This was it. “Hi, I’m Lance. I-”

 

“Hi Lance.”

           

“Hi…” The interruption threw him off, but he knew he had to focus. “I’m feeling…,” Lance felt brave as he looked once again into Keith’s eyes. Obviously, Keith put on an angry front, his brows furrowed; his mouth was frowning slightly.

 

But Lance _knew_ Keith. He knew Keith’s eyes. And Keith’s eyes were telling another story. Lance could see pain, anguish… heartbreak; not anger.

           

“I’m feeling like I want to fix things. Take back what I’ve said and done.” Lance watched as Keith breathed in sharply, but he couldn’t stop now. “I’m going to fix-”

           

“Bullshit.” Keith growled, jaw clenched. Lance felt fear flicker within him. He’d never heard Keith speak in such a chilling way. Lance could feel goosebumps rising. _Now or Never._

 

Despite Keith, Lance continued, “You know, I used to think that people would always do the same things, and that it would always be a constant cycle. There were good people who pet dogs and watered flowers and gave hugs. Good people things.”

 

Lance closed his eyes for a deep breath. He had captured the room. “And then there were people like me.” Keith was still staring at Lance, his expression never moving. “But now? I don’t know anymore-”

 

 “Do you really believe people can change?” Keith muttered, stopping Lance dead in his tracks. Lance felt something tap his sleeve, looking down he realized tears were falling from his own eyes.

 

What could he say to someone who saw the worst in him?

 

“At least let me try.”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

“Let you try? _YOU?_ ” Coran spit out his herbal tea onto Lance’s blue tie. _And to think I just bought this_ , Lance rolled his eyes. An intern huddled closely by interrupted Coran’s coughing fit; throwing a handkerchief between the two.

 

The tower lobby went completely silent as hundreds of employees stopped to investigate the shouting. The sound of Coran’s voice echoed off marble floors, radiated from the tall ceiling and boomed around the quart’s pillars. The lobby was huge, but it didn’t take much for Coran’s disruption to travel around it.

 

“Yes, thank you, Pigeon.” Coran patted his lips while Lance wiped the tea from his tie. The tower seemed to resume, filling the silence with returned noise.

 

“It’s Pidge.” Pidge mumbled under her breath, grabbing the handkerchief from Coran. Coran patted his Armani suit, ruffling out the wrinkles from his sudden outbreak. “Lance, my boy- run what you just said by me again.”

 

Lance took a quick breath. Why was his heart beating so fast? Lance was never known as someone who got nervous, or one that backed down in the face of fear. Especially not when it came to his career. “I think you should let me present my idea in the meeting tomorrow.”

 

“My god, Pigeon, I was correct. The boy has gone mad. Lance, you are an executive of art, corporate is a completely different ball game. I-,” as Coran went off on a tangent, Lance ran a hand through his hair.

 

His head was hot, and he could feel his temper slipping a little. Coran was a great boss; smart, charismatic, creative. But damn, was he _much_ at times.

 

“Mr. Smythe, for years I have put my own blood, sweat, and tears into this company. My only goal is to keep Altean Advertising at the top of the market,” Lance objected, analyzing Coran’s every expression, “I know my own potential, and you know it too. Show me one employee who will work harder than me for this case. Oh yeah, that’s right… you can’t.”

 

Coran lifted his head from his hand, examining Lance up and down. Lance straightened his posture, and crossed his arms, giving the appearance of strength.

 

A small smirk spread across Coran’s face. “And I suppose you’ve already finished a complete presentation?”

 

Lance returned Coran’s expression with a cocky grin. “Is that a yes?”

 

Coran chuckled, releasing the tension from Lance’s shoulders. “You can attend the meeting, but it’s simply a matter of whether we’ll have time for you. And I want a mock-up of the full presentation on my desk in an hour.” Lance couldn’t help but feel himself grin eagerly.

 

With that, Coran whipped around, strutting towards the rotating doors that let out to the busy Boston streets. Pidge re-adjusted her glasses, giving Lance a thumbs up and a cheeky wink, before abruptly following Coran out the door and into what seemed like a mile-long limousine.

 

“Oh my god,” Lance beamed, rubbing his head in disbelief of what he just accomplished. _Holy shit! I got the meeting!_

 

Lance felt a million times lighter heading towards the elevators, but before Lance could get a step in, a broad arm swung around his shoulder, pulling lance into an uncomfortable back hug. A low, raspy voice was heard from behind, “So, the little lamb moves up the corporate ladder.”

 

 _Lotor._ Lance jerked himself from the arm-lock Lotor entrapped him in. Straightening out his shirt, Lance felt a smidge of anger warming the back of his neck.

 

In front of Lance stood a tall, insanely fit man- who’s own power radiated off of him like Lance was staring into the sun. His long, white hair jelled back into a modern look, leaving his incredibly structured, perfect almost, face open to view.

 

Lotor was in a strapping suit, a tie that resembled the very one Lance was wearing. Except Lotor’s tie far superior; the pattern was far more intricate, and the blue color was deeper in saturation. Chanel vs Walmart, and Lance was clearly on the losing end.

 

“Guess Coran wants more than one opinion,” Lance bit. He was a little too aggressive for his liking; Lance needed to tone it down if he knew what was good for him. Lotor was an obvious rival to Lance when it came to the Altean Advertising, but Lotor had already been an advertising consultant for Coran, and Lance did _not_ need any further competition when it came to the new opportunity. “H-how’s it going with your presentation?”

 

“Ah, it’s coming along. Just a few minor changes, is all, and then it’s the corner office on the 42nd floor for me.” Lotor gleamed. _Not if I get it first_ , Lance thought, unknowingly glaring at Lotor.

 

“Well, I gotta run-,” Lance finally said, turning into the direction of the elevators. Unexpectedly, Lance stopped short from Lotor impactfully grapping his elbow. Lance swung his head, making eye contact with Lotor.

 

“If I could give you a little advice,” Lotor forced, “I’m really counting on a promotion. I’ve got a few… side-businesses I’m funding.” Lance could feel his body temperature rising as Lotor spoke. Was this a threat? “I just want to make sure this little opportunity doesn’t get to your head.”

 

Lance yanked his elbow from Lotor’s firm grasp. Though cool and collected on the outside, Lance felt crammed with a burning rage. He wanted to punch Lotor straight in the throat- or send him flying through the glass window.

 

But Lance new better; he _had_ to know better.

 

“Never. That’s your thing, Lotor,” Lance smirked, walking towards the elevator, leaving Lotor to a slight chuckle.

 

Lance entered into a small room packed with people heading to their own floors. Pressing the 36th button, Lance looked forward out the elevator to see Lotor standing cross-armed.

 

“Oh, and how is the misses? Allura, was it?” Lotor grinned devilishly.

 

The breaking point for Lance arrived. Against his will, Lance’s head burst with a fury of heat. He opened his mouth to release a storm of spite towards Lotor- but before Lance could get a word out, the elevator doors shut, leaving Lance with his face steaming and his mouth wide open.

_Dammit._

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Lance entered his office, flopping his briefcase down on his glass desk. He collapsed into his desk chair, letting out a sigh that deflated his lungs to the point of hurting. It’d been a long work day.

 

Altean Advertising, the multi-million-dollar company behind the world’s most influential campaigns, holds three main compartments. First, the corporate department receives a client. The corporate departments job includes deciding the creative process behind a campaign; what are we selling and how are we going to sell it. After setting the idea in stone, the art department handles how the advertisements are to be presented. What colors, what fonts, how will it look online; so on and so forth. Once the final draft pieces are completed, the work is then sent off to the production department, where the advertisement is made, printed, and shipped to clients and personnel.

 

In terms of company status, the corporate department was the crème-de-la-crème, leaving the art department occupying middle class, and the production department at the bottom of the food chain.

 

As ‘Senior Executive Supervisor’ of the art department, Lance was relatively high up in the company; Lance oversaw all creative processes in the art department, as well as managing close communication within the corporate department. Lance’s office was huge compared to what others inhabited. From years of working vigorously and tirelessly, Lance received a 36th story office, his own secretary, and employees that worked underneath him.

 

Rubbing his temple, Lance swiveled his chair around to look out at the Boston Skyline. _42 nd corner office, huh? _Lance watched a group of birds peck at an abandoned hotdog on the street. Lance wondered if Lotor’s office faced the same group of birds. Not that Lance’s office wasn’t big enough for him; hell, the office overlooked Boston Common. People in the tower would kill just to stand in his office for 2 minutes.

 

"But it’s not the 42nd floor corner office,” Lance sighed as he watched a small bird swallow a hotdog whole.

Lance’s room was shit compared to the 42nd corner office. Rumor has it the office had its own sauna. Just the thought of it made Lance’s back ache from the lack of steaming stones.

 

“So… I’m guessing this pouty fit means you didn’t get the meeting?” A tender, but compassionate voice made Lance turn towards a familiar figure standing in his office doorway.

 

Hunk Palamo, head of creative concept down on the 22nd floor of the art department. Lance used to be underneath Hunk when he first began at the company, until the success of Lance’s iconic campaigns upped him to his current position with Altean Advertising.

 

Lance’s face instantly shifted from a state of somber to a devilish grin, making Hunk chuckle. “You little shit! I can’t believe it!” Lance laughed as Hunk stretched out his arms for a hug, pulling Lance into a tight squeeze. While Hunk and Lance seldom saw each other outside of work, Hunk was probably Lance’s closest friend.

           

Pulling away from each other, Hunk took a deep breath, proudly scanning his friend up and down. “So… I get your job when you get promoted, right?” A small woman’s clicking heels interrupted the boy’s laughing.

 

“You got the meeting?” A cheery voice was heard from the door. Lance and Hunk swiveled to see an eager secretary, a young and proper Romelle.

 

Romelle looked striking in a black pencil skirt with a patterned blouse, her long blonde hair tied back into low pigtails. Not only did she look professional, but she had an attitude about her that made people question whether or not _she_ was the CEO.

 

“By this time next week, we’ll be celebrating on the 42nd floor.” Lance joked.

 

“Congratulations, Lance,” Romelle smiled brightly. Out the corner of his eye, Lance spotted a slight flush in Hunk’s cheeks, “but I’ll be saving the champagne for when my new computer and desk chair arrive.”

 

Romelle set loose paper onto Lance’s desk. Smiling at Hunk, Romelle left through the doors, leaving the boys alone again.

 

“Anyway, you’ve probably got work to do, I just came by to drop off the final draft,” Hunk coughed, rubbing his cheeks to hide the redness.

 

“Mmmmhm. Suuuuure,” Lance blinked flirtatiously, pantomiming curling a strand of his hair in his fingers.

 

“Okay, I see how it is,” Hunk folded his arms to his chest, slowly backing out of the office, “I’ll have you know my Rosacea is acting up.” Hunk then dashed down the hall, avoiding eye-contact with a sitting Romelle.

 

Lance sat back down in his chair, laughing while sorting through the papers Romelle dropped.

 

Hunk popped his head back into the doorway. “Oh, and say hey to Allura for me,” Hunk winked, shooting a finger gun at Lance. With that, Hunk once again vanished down the aisle-way.

 

Lance cocked an eyebrow. Why would Hunk say hello to Allura like that…? Waving away lingering thoughts, Lanced focused onto his remaining files for his presentation tomorrow. He needed to convert all his intelligence and creativity into this work, the 42nd corner office depended on it.

 

Minutes melted away into hours, blurring lines of text and monotone color palettes. The next thing Lance knew, his face was smushed against his glass desk, a feeling of a pencil being slightly jabbed into his cheek.

 

“Uh… Lance?” It was Romelle. Lance rocketed up, sending pencils on his desk flying.

 

“Wha-What’s up?” Lance said quickly, trying to bury the fact he was just passed out.

 

“I’m going to head out… did you want me to leave the lights on for you?”

 

Lance looked at the clock. 9 PM.

 

“9 already?” Lance yawned, “What are you doing here so late?”

 

“I just had a lot of work to do today,” Romelle said as she picked up the fallen pencils. “So, I’m guessing you and Allura are doing a late dinner tonight, huh?”

 

Lance cocked his eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

 

“Oh, I just thought- Isn’t today your _one-year anniversary_?”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

As soon as the elevator doors opened to Allura’s floor, Lance jetted out, grabbing a quick rose from a center-piece in the hallway flower-vase. Lance sprinted down the extravagant hallway, counting down the doors until Allura’s.

 

The cheap chocolates in the heart shaped box shook violently, while the inexpensive champagne built up pressure from all the pounding of Lance’s running.

 

Lance flew straight up to Allura’s door, almost letting the box of chocolate slip through his sweaty hands. Lance straightened his hair, checked his breath and stood centered. Raising his hand to the door, Lance was ready for the lecture of his life. _How could he forget his anniversary_?

Before Lance could knock, the door swung open.

 

“Lance... what are you doing here?” Allura closed the door behind her, the two standing in the hallway, a glorious light beaming off of her.

 

She was dressed in her work clothes; a white blouse with a striped blazer, paired with tight black pants and killer pumps that made Allura look unbelievably beautiful. Her hair was pulled back into her usual bun, and she wore a bit of makeup; however, her natural beauty called no need for makeup.

 

Allura stood with her phone in hand, slightly lowered from her ear, like she had just put a call on pause. With her work bag slung over her body, Lance took the signs into account.

 

She was heading into a late night of work, and more prevalent, _she forgot their anniversary too._

 

Lance sighed, letting his shoulders drop. How did it come to this? Lance watched Allura’s eyes scan from his frazzled hair to the box of chocolates in his hand, to the single flower and plastic bottle of champagne. Then Allura’s eyes darted back to Lance’s, recognizing the distraught.

 

Allura let out a small gasp, “Today…” Allura dropped her phone into her bag and leaned against the door, rubbing her neck.

 

“Oh Lance, I’m so sorry.” Allura moved towards Lance, wrapping her arms through his, pulling him into a hug. “Work has been so crazy lately. I swear sometimes I even forget my own name.”

 

Lance dropped the items in his hands, placing his arms around Allura. The two stood in the hallway, embracing warmly for a few moments more. Finally, Allura pulled away, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind Lance’s ear.

 

“So… we missed today… but we’re going to have so many more anniversaries to celebrate,” Allura pleaded, cupping her hand to his cheek. Lance faked a slight smile.

           

“Hey, I know! Tomorrow night I’ll get us a reservation at the fanciest restaurant in Boston,” Allura grabbed Lance’s hand, inching closer towards him while lowering her eyes, “And to make it up to you, I’ll wear something very… _inviting._ ”

 

That was all Lance needed to hear, a devilish grin returning to his face.

 

“Oh yeah? _How_ inviting are we talking here,” Lance leaned down and whispered into Allura’s ear, causing her to giggle. Lance planted small kisses on the side of Allura’s neck, following a line to just the corner of her mouth.

 

Suddenly, a cell-phone ring sent the aura around the pair crashing down, fizzling from the dull, grey lightbulbs above them.

 

“Work’s probably wondering where I am,” Allura sighed. Lance gave a small nod, signaling that it wouldn’t be a problem if she left. “See you tomorrow night.” Allura winked while turning down the hallway, leaving Lance propped against her door.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

           

Lance opened the door to his own apartment, the yellow light from the hallway flooding into the barren space. Lance liked to keep his apartment upkept and minimal. His life was already in such a craze, coming home to a neat and orderly space took an immense stress off his shoulders. Everything has a place and a purpose; there’s no space or reason for clutter.

 

Lance flicked on the kitchen light as he placed the champagne and chocolates on the counter, along with his suitcase and keys.

           

Lance slummed over to his kitchen, opening his fridge to be met with a bitter cold. “Great, empty,” Lance sighed, pushing away half-full condiment bottles and empty food containers. Lance’s stomach gurgled, _did I even eat at all today?_ Closing the fridge, Lance scanned around his sizable kitchen for something of use.

 

His eyes stopped searching when he reached the heart shaped box. “Chocolate it is,” Lance said, swiping the chocolate and champagne from their place.

 

After binging on milk-chocolate covered nougat and raspberry flavored confections, Lance felt satisfied from hunger, but something within him gave wave after wave of small throbs. A wanting for… connection.

 

Lanced sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes; 2 AM. The thought of sleep nonexistent at this point. He could watch tv, or plan for the presentation, maybe lay out his clothes-

 

Lance’s thoughts came to a halt when he saw a familiar object on his dresser from across the room. His bedroom felt dark and slightly cold; neon lights streamed in from signs and buildings outside. One of the signs cast a bright shine on a picture frame, one Lance looked at frequently in times of gloom.

           

It was a photo of him and Allura on vacation in Cuba, where Lance was born. They were strolling on a beach a few blocks away from the family house; The water was blue, and the sand was golden. Lance felt his skin warm, like he was somehow transported into that photo, underneath the Cuban sun.

 

Lance stood up, walked over to the frame, collecting it for a further examine. Allura had her hands on his chest, while Lance wrapped one hand around her shoulder, pulling her in for a selfie. Both of them had huge smiles from a day of fun.

 

Lance ran a hand through his hair, analyzing the photo. The warmth on his face faded as he stared himself in the picture. Lance didn’t recognize himself. This stranger was relaxed, joyful, eager for life. When was the last time Lance genuinely smiled like that? When was the last time he felt… happy? Setting the photo face-down, Lance felt a slight shake enter his body.

 

“Damn chocolate,” he muttered, pushing the empty box onto the floor. Lance covered himself in his silk sheets, blocking out the heat he could feel radiating off the photograph. _Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep…_

_Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep, sleep, go to, go to, sleep…._

 

A faint humming danced in Lance’s ear. Groaning, Lance thought he might’ve left the refrigerator open. The world was blocked-out when he opened his eyes, but not by silk sheets. This time, his face was covered by thick material. Maybe a canvas blanket, something Lance knew didn’t exist in his apartment.

 

He tried to move his body a little, only to find himself wearing tight clothing, like he wore his clothes to bed. Lance felt confused; he _always_ changes before bed.

 

The humming in the room ceased, and with it, Lance’s eyelids drifted closer together.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Lance sprung into a sitting position, a silk sheet completely bundled around his face. Pulling it off, Lance scanned the room to find himself back in his bedroom. After a deep sigh, he stood on his feet.

 

A quick shower woke Lance up enough to realize his meeting was in 30 minutes. “Oh god dammit-,” Lance shouted as he threw on a suit. He grabbed his keys and suitcase, and ran out the door, leaving his apartment to sit in silence.

 

The humming noise gone.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Lance entered the tower lobby. Employees were bustling around like bees in a colony; Sound of heels and loafers walking fast-paced replaced the humming of wings, small talk between co-workers filled the sound of buzzes. Lance sighed, he always felt strangely peaceful at work.

 

“Lance,” Coran shouted to him from across the lobby, signaling for him to approach the group of company officers and Pidge, who looked like a gnome compared to the corporate giants. Lance gulped, this was it.

 

“Look, I just really need to deliver this to him,” someone said at the lobby desk nearby.

 

“I’m sorry sir, but we don’t allow drop-offs without proper identification.”

 

Lance’s heart was beating, he felt his body floating out of panic. _42 nd floor here I come_.

 

“Just look up the name, Lance McClain.”

 

Lance snapped his head to a desk clerk nervously typing, and a man standing, holding an envelope in hand. As if he could tell Lance was staring, the man instantly shifted his body to face Lance, holding the letter out in front of him.

 

The scene was like out of a movie. The hustle of the worker bees surrounding Lance and the stranger blurred, the only thing Lance focused on was the person standing across from him. Their eyes locked, hearts decreased, breaths diminished.

 

“I’m Lance McClain,” Lance said cautiously, crossing his arms. “Who are you?”

           

The man shifted his weight from the palms of his feet to his heels, raising his shoulders slightly in tension.

 

“Keith.”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

END OF CHAPTER 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.”  
> -C. S. Lewis
> 
> \+ - + - + - + - + - + - +
> 
> After the shittiest day of his life, Lance awakens to a new world through a different pair of eyes...

“I’m Lance McClain,” Lance said cautiously, crossing his arms. “Who are you?”

           

The man shifted his weight from the palms of his feet to his heels, raising his shoulders slightly in tension. He was lean; wearing a white tee-shirt and a tan, corduroy jacket. His ripped, black jeans gave the impression he was a working-class man; his long, black hair messily pulled back into his collar.

 

A fainted scar down his cheek and slight cuts all-around gave Lance a clue this guy was _not_ a local of Back-Bay.

 

“Keith.”

 

Lance looked back to Coran and Pidge, figuring he had a few moments to spare before he faced a potential firing.

 

Sighing, Lance faced to Keith, “And how can I help you?”

 

Lance stepped forward, expecting an answer from the mysterious man. Instead, Lance was met with a quick shove of the letter into his abdomen.

           

“What’s this?” Lance asked, glancing down without grabbing the letter.

 

“Does it look like I opened it?” Keith countered.

           

“Lance, my boy!” Lance heard Coran calling from across the lobby, obviously growing impatient. Lance turned back to Keith, met with an expression he couldn’t analyze.

 

Reaching for the letter, Keith and Lance’s fingers touched for a split second, sending a small shock to their cores. The hairs on the back of Lance’s neck rose slightly while Keith removed his fingers in a brisk action.

 

Lance scanned the letter for the return address. Nothing. Just a simple ‘Lance McClain’ written neatly on the front.

 

“Who’s it from-,” Lance looked up, realizing Keith was already walking away.

 

Suddenly a hand gripped Lance’s shoulder, making him lightly jump.

           

“McClain, how many times does your boss have to yell your name?” Coran joked, creating a forced chuckle among the surrounding corporate officers.

 

“I apologize, I-,” Lance began.

           

“It’s quite alright. Gentlemen, this is Lance McClain, one of my trusty employees who will be attending the meeting this afternoon,” Coran’s hand was still clutched onto Lance’s shoulder, causing a slight pain.

 

He turned to Lance, as if acknowledging the power, towering over him in his squeeze, “Would you care to join us for lunch?”

 

Lance knew this would be a superb advance in his career. He knew people in his office would literally _kill_ for an hour-long window with the ‘top-tiers’. However, as Lance was about to jump on the offer, something within him stirred.

 

This letter was important. _He could feel it._

 

“I’m terribly sorry, but I already have plans,” Lance said sheepishly, exiting the group. “Next time.”

 

Coran’s jaw popped open, his hand remaining in the gripping position after Lance escaped it. The corporate officers watched Lance leave in awe, Pidge also in a state of confusion.

 

 _What the hell, Lance,_ he thought as he marched towards the elevators; turning back now would just make him seem an even bigger fool. So now, he had to focus.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Lance rushed into his office, dropping his suitcase to the ground; furiously searching for a letter opener he knew he had stashed somewhere in his office.

 

“Second drawer on your left,” Romelle yelled from her desk. _Thank you_ , Lance thought, rolling his eyes at how he never seems to find things fast enough.

 

Snatching the letter opener from the drawer, Lance quickly sat in his chair- slicing open the envelope. He pulled the crisp paper from the pouch, shaking. Instantly, the space smelled familiar, someone Lance knew wrote this.

 

**To whom it may concern;**

 

            **_Letter of Wishes, to the designated Trustees of my Will-_**

 

Lance snapped the letter shut, his heart stopping short. Anxiety inched to the top of his throat, inducing Lance’s hands into an incontrollable shake. Impossible. _Please, god, not Mama, not Veronica, Marco, Luis…_

 

After a profound breath, Lance gained enough courage to stop the shaking and open the letter again. Lance’s eyes darted to the bottom of the page, searching for the name of the will’s holder. Finally, his eyes found it.

 

Andrés McClain. Lance’s father. The man Lance hadn’t looked in the eye for _10 years_.

 

Sitting completely fixed, Lance stared at the letters on the bottom of the page. Andrés. A name Lance swore he would never speak again.

 

A name Lance buried, a name Lance had _forgotten_. Lance rapidly crumpled the paper in his hand, feeling years of entombed feelings bubbling in his chest, uncovering themselves in the heat of his palms.

 

Lance chucked the paper at the wall. He jumped to his feet, heaving his desk chair to the ground, breathing with a burdensome load. Sweat was starting to form at the top of his forehead.

 

He wished he’d never opened the message at all. 10. Damn. Years. 10 years of never talking, never recognizing each other’s existence. Then out of the blue Andrés decides Lance is important enough to include in his _will_?

 

With his breath coming to a stand-still, Lance placed his hands on his hips, staring at the fallen chair. Who the hell did Andrés think he was? Did he really think he was someone who could ignore Lance for a decade, then all of a sudden decide to give him a little token of an apology?

 

Worst of all, Lance couldn’t decide what he felt. Anger, hurt, shock, compassion; no adjective could describe the swell in Lance’s chest. All Lance knew was he wanted _nothing_ to do with that letter.

 

“Woah, what happened to your chair?” Lance looked up, to occupied in his own haze to notice Hunk had entered his office. Hunk chuckled slightly before looking Lance up and down, realizing Lance had thrown the chair down himself. “H-hey, are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” Lance snapped, rubbing his face.

 

“Oooo-kay. I’ll take that as ‘you don’t want to talk about it’,” Hunk joked, trying to lighten the mood. Hunk lifted the chair up and plopped down, sighing comfortably.

 

“Was there something you needed?” Lance realized the harshness in his voice, but he didn’t care about how he came off. He didn’t want to joke around.

 

“Right,” Hunk rolled his eyes, standing from the chair and straightening his tie. Knowing his friend, Hunk didn’t take anything to heart. “So… the dude that planned the lunch forgot Coran’s peanut allergy-,”

 

Lance lifted his hands from his face, cocking an eyebrow at Hunk. Hunk leaned against the wall, raising his eyebrows in certainty, “Oh yeah, Pidge texted me. Coran went crazy and threw his water on the waiter.”

 

Lance couldn’t help but laugh, rubbing his mouth trying to muffle his chuckle.

 

“Uh-huh, _and,_ I heard he got so heated one of the officers thought he was having a heart attack. So, they threw _their_ water on Coran.” Hunk burst into a roar, Lance grasping his stomach for air.

           

“What’s so funny?” Coran asked, stepping into Lance’s office. Lance and Hunk snapped into a straight posture, both faces in a state of shock.

 

The boys looked down at Coran’s shirt; it was soaked.

 

“Uh, nothing sir.” Lance chirped.

 

Coran raised an eyebrow, scanning from Hunk to Lance. “Meeting’s in five minutes.” Coran strutted out of the office, holding his head high.

 

The minute Coran’s clicking heels could no longer be heard, Hunk and Lance collapsed to the floor in a puddle of tears.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Coran tapped his fingers on his desk. He scanned from Lotor to Lance gradually, judging their every breath. Lance and Lotor stood next to each other in front of Coran’s desk, awaiting instructions.

 

Lance’s heart was beating, his breath awkward and hefty. Lotor seemed perfectly calm, a small smirk constantly in position.

 

“Lotor, please,” Coran insinuated, waving his hand to the front of his desk. Lotor was to go first.

           

“Let me ask you a question,” Lotor remarked, leaning forward to Coran’s height. Interesting tactic, Lance thought. Too bad it wouldn’t work on Coran. If there was one thing Coran hated more than peanuts, it was the feeling of relating to his inferiors.

 

Sighing, Coran pivoted his gaze past Lotor, directing it on Lance. Lance stood straight, nervously. “Lance?”

 

“Wai-wait wait _wait_ ,” Lotor stammered.

 

“Yes?”

 

Lance slumped his shoulders down as Lotor continued his presentation. He couldn’t help but stare at his shoes, waiting in anticipation for Lotor to finish in time.

 

Lance’s mind wandered, he felt a slight heat under his feet, like the letter was beckoning him from his office, 6 floors down. His stomached tied in knots. Why did his father still hold this power over him? You’d think after 10 years Lance couldn’t care less about another stranger dying; yet, his heart burned from hatred, contrasting his brain flooding with mourn.

     

_And who the hell was Keith?_

 

“Lotor, you sly dog. I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Lance’s head snapped up, his entire body frozen in shock as he watched Coran and Lotor shake hands.

 

“My pleasure, Mr. Smythe.”

 

“Please, it’s _Coran_. We’ll be working closely, let’s not use proper grammatic.”

 

 _No no no no no…_ “M-Mr. Smythe, I haven’t-,”

 

Lotor turned to Lance, arms folded to his chest in an act of great pride. Lance stuttered as he watched Coran reach for an expensive bottle of champagne underneath his desk.

 

“Sorry Lance, Lotor really blew the roof off on this one,” Coran laughed as the cork of the champagne sent flying

 

“And there just simply isn’t enough time.”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Tears formed the base of Lance’s eyes, as he paced to the elevators of the 42nd floor. He hated this floor. He hated everyone who had an office on this floor.

 

He hated the tile, the walls, the ceiling. Lance wanted to set aflame this entire tower. It could burn in hell as he watched his hopes and dreams engulf in fire with it.

 

He spent years with this company. He’s missed family birthdays, weddings, anniversaries. He forgot his own damn anniversary- and for what? For Lotor to swoop in and steal his spot to support his other shady ‘businesses’?

 

A tear involuntarily fell from Lance’s eye.

 

He didn’t hate this floor. He didn’t hate the tile, the walls, the ceiling; _nothing._ He just hated the fact that he lost. Lance lost, and that’s what made all the difference.

 

Lance slugged into the elevator as soon as the doors swung open, tapping the 36th floor. _Back to the drawing boards_ , Lance sighed to himself.

 

Suddenly, a hand jetted into the closing elevator doors. Lance gazed up, watching Lotor toss a closed bottle of champagne to him. Catching it, Lance looked up again, confusion clouding his brain.

 

“An extra one I had in my office. For you,” Lotor snickered, turning on his heels, “Coran! Let’s talk business-,”

 

The doors closed, leaving Lance to his tears and a bottle of moderately expensive champagne.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

“That… _dick_ ,” Romelle sneered. Lance brewed in his chair, while Hunk took a swig from the champagne. “I’ve always hated him. You know we’re from the same town? He was a dick back then, and he’s still a dick now,” Romelle continued as Hunk passed the bottle. Hunk gave a sympathetic laugh to release some tension in the room.

 

“I should’ve seen it coming, I should’ve asked to present first-,”

 

“Lance, shut up. Listen, there’s nothing more you could’ve done,” Hunk reassured, “there’s good people in this world, like you and me, and Ro-,” Hunk peered over at Romelle who was draining the liquor, “Romelle, _cool it_.”

 

“It’s still half-full,” Romelle let out a small burp. “Not to be that person… but this is pretty good booze.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Lance swiveled around to look out his office window. The 42nd floor seemed higher and higher up, like it was ascending to heaven while Lance sat in this hell-hole. _What now?_

 

Hunk walked over to Lance’s window, centering himself in Lance’s view. “I’ll tell you what now,” Hunk declared as if reading Lance’s mind, “you are going to get up.”

 

 Kicking Lance’s shoe, Hunk motioned for Lance to follow his commands. So, Lance stood.

 

“You are gonna straighten up.” Behind Lance, Hunk could see Romelle repeating his directions.

 

“You’re gonna give me a genuine smile.” Eh, Lance tried.

 

“And you are going to carry on. Because you’ll be damned if you think this was it for your career.”

           

Hunk poked Lance’s side, causing Lance to smile a bit more legitimately. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I can get Pidge to set something up.”

 

“But for now,” Romelle interrupted, walking over to the boys with a fresh suit she pulled from Lance’s emergency closet, “You’re going to have an amazing anniversary dinner with Allura.” At this point, Lance was actually smiling. “You’ve got an hour to get it together, boss.”

 

“Thanks, guys.” Lance grabbed the suit and went to unbutton his shirt, but then remembered he had two sets of eyes watching him. “…A little privacy?”

 

Romelle grabbed Hunk’s hand, closing the blinds and shutting the door while leading him out the office. Hunk blushing the entire time.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

“Another wine, sir?” Lance flinched at the sound of a waiter leaning to his ear.

 

For a second, Lance forgot where he was. However, the man dressed in a fine tux, the smell of his expensive cologne, and the ambiance of a millionaires dream slapped Lance in the face; this wasn’t a dive bar. He currently inhabited the most exclusive, deluxe restaurant he had ever stepped foot in. Lance wondered how many phone calls Allura had to make to get a reservation on such short notice.

 

Sighing, Lance nodded. “Make it a double whiskey.”

 

It’d been two hours. Two hours, 120 minutes, 7200 seconds. Make that 7201 now. Lance tapped the rim of a wine glass; one among a sea of empty glasses. The world was fuzzy at this point, but he wasn’t drunk enough to mask the throb of his heart.

 

The real question was if Allura’s absence started the hurting, or if Lance was aching from embarrassment of being stood up. He checked his phone again.

 

            _No Messages._

 

“A double whisk-,” Lance snatched the liquor from the man’s hand, pouring the strong booze directly down his throat.

 

“I’ll go get another.”

 

 _Ping!_ A text from Allura; Lance raised his phone an inch away from his face, concentrating so the text stopped swirling.

 

_I am so beyond sorry. No excuse, but the hospital really needs me. Please, Lance, call me later. -A._

 

The waiter pulled up with another double whiskey, this time slowly placing the glass on the table; waiting in anticipation for Lance to grab it.

 

“Where’s the nearest bar?”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Lance didn’t remember much of the steps he took to get to this point, but he remembered a shot. And then another. Then a margarita. Then a shot.

 

And now? His eyelids were heavy like his breathing. But he was too tired for sleep.

 

Suddenly, something tapped his cheek. “Dude?”

 

Another poke, this time to his forehead. A woman coughed for his attention. “Dude.”

 

“Duuuuude!” An impactful jab to his eyeball sent Lance flying up.

 

“Owwwwww,” his head was a dead-weight; the world cloudy to the point of not being able to see. Lance scanned up, recognizing the woman who poked him. They were alone in the bar.

 

She was short and slim, with slanted eyes that could glow in the dark. Her long, red ponytail seemed to stretch to the floor. The bartender, maybe? Lance motioned to his watch, hoping she’d understand it with his slurred speech, “Wh-what’s the-,”

 

“Like 11:30? But you’re the only one here, and I want to go home early,” She snarked, reaching for a payphone next to Lance. “Yeah, a cab to Ezor’s bar.”

 

Lance peered around while patting himself up and down. He felt his wallet, keys, and phone… _Allura_. Almost dropping it in the process, Lance whipped his phone in front of his eyes.

 

            _No Messages_.

 

Suddenly, two hands were pressed against Lance’s back pushing him towards the exit. Ezor was surprisingly strong for a woman of her size.

 

Outside in the chilly Boston air, Lance plumped to the side of the entry way. “Stay. Good boy. The cab’ll be here soon,” Ezor cooed, walking back into the bar.

 

Left to right, Lance peered for a cab, his heading dropping up and down. _Dear god, how much did he drink_? Once again, Lance reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone; hoping, praying for a message from Allura.

 

            _No Messages_.

 

After the notification, (or lack thereof) Lance was left staring at his background picture. The same photo of him and Allura on the beach, forged smiles. An urge of disgust filled the pit of Lance’s being.

 

He wished he could reach into that photo and shake himself. Tell him to stop _goddamn smiling_. His eye-line moved from himself to Allura. The woman he love… was in a relationship with.

 

That was the thing. One full year of being together and neither of them has ever said it. Maybe neither of them wanted to.

 

Lance couldn’t help but watch his fingers scroll, down to contacts, past the irrelevant names starting with ‘A’. He observed as him thumb pressed ‘Allura <3’ with a pink heart emoji. Next, the calling screen appeared.

 

 _Oh shit_ , Lance thought as he pressed the phone to his ear. What seemed like hours of ringing was met with a simple voice message. _This is Allura. Leave a message._

 

So, he did.

 

Lance unknowingly spit out sentence after sentence of word vomit. The knot in his stomach slowly came undone; insult after insult rolling off his tongue- syllable after syllable releasing his gut from immense pressure.

 

He didn’t mean it, he didn’t want to say these things.

 

But he did. And _holy shit_ , did it feel good.

 

The sound of tires rolling up to the curb splashed Lance into reality. Snatching his phone from his ear, he rapidly hung up.

 

He regretted calling her, regretted drinking a single drop of alcohol. But what was done was done. And Lance couldn’t change it. He couldn’t change for her.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

“So, kid. Where to?”

 

He didn’t want to go home.

 

Then, Lance remembered a half-empty bottle of champagne on his office desk.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

The bubbles swirled in Lance’s mouth, swishing from one cheek to the other; in a symphonic dance that made his tongue tickle.

 

 _What a shitty day,_ Lance thought, whirling around in his chair, making the world spin.

 

Suddenly, Lance was hurled to the ground, the champagne bottle dropping with him. His face was smushed against the hard floor. _Damn, too drunk to even sit in a chair._ Lance’s put his hands next to his head, trying to lift himself from the ground.

 

No use.

 

Giving up and letting his arms flop, Lance looked from where he was lying. He could see the Boston skyline; It was almost midnight, and the moon cast a glimmer among the building window reflections.

 

One time he tried to bring Allura up around this time, to show her the way the moon lit up the night sky; bouncing off the clouds into oblivion.

 

But she was working that night.

 

Lance exhaled, following a beam of moonlight to a crumpled paper on the floor. The letter.

 

 _Who the hell is Keith_ , Lance thought, as he drifted off into restive sleep.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

“Come on, man, open up.”

 

The sound of pounding sent Lance’s snapping eyelids open. Something shrouded his head; it was soft and warm- probably a pillow. Since when did Lance have pillows in his office?

 

Lance tried moving his arm to uncover his face, but a pang of soreness rang through his limb, igniting a fire throughout his entire body. _Holy shit, I’m so hungover_ , Lance thought.

 

“This isn’t funny, open the door!” The same voice shouted while still thumping, although it was muffled through a thick wall.

 

Obtaining enough energy, Lance lifted the pillow from his head. It hurt, his whole body throbbed, but it was time to get up and deal with the consequences of a night’s drinking.

 

Sunlight flooded into Lance’s eyes, causing them to sting and water. His hands moved swiftly, protecting his eyes from further damage.

 

Sitting up, Lance slowly adjusted to the brightness, removing his fingers. The world was still blurry at this point, but Lance could make out shapes and colors. At least enough to realize he wasn’t in his office.

 

He didn’t know where he was.

 

“Open up this goddamn door!” The voice grew harsh, and Lance did not want to wait for it to become angrier.

 

Lance threw his feet to the floor, knocking over an empty bottle of rum. He looked around his feet, staring at a sea of drained mugs, realizing further he’d been sleeping on a worn-down couch. Gazing around again, Lance more-over acknowledged this entire apartment was a dump.

 

Clothes were thrown everywhere, dishes strewn about, loose paper crumpled everywhere. _Ew, this is where I chose to sleep last night?_ His back ached with discomfort from the couch as Lance slumped to the door, trying to remember if he gone home with someone.

 

 Swinging open the door, Lance was met with a towering, athletically built man in a leather jacket and black jeans. There was a scar that spread across the bridge of his nose, giving the appearance of a straight up bad-ass. His expression was angry, but a small smirk spread across his face.

 

“Hungover again? Can’t say I’m surprised,” He chuckled, moving past Lance, bumping his shoulder slightly.

 

Lance’s jaw popped open. _Who-?_

 

“Geez, this place is a dump…”

 

Lance faced the man, still in a state of shock. His migraine was flaring at this point.

 

“I-I’m sorry… wh-who are-,” Lance noticed his voice was raspier, feeling his legs starting to wobble.

 

“Woah,” The man launched forward, catching Lance before he could fall, “Come on- let’s get some food before work. You’re gonna need it,” he grabbed a set of keys off of the kitchen counter.

 

“You got your phone, right?” The man moved past Lance back into the hallway, walking as if Lance was following right behind him.

 

Lance scanned down his body. Loose, white shirt. Black, ripped jeans. A tan, heavy, winter corduroy jacket. He just noticed through long, black bangs that his skin lightened to a pale tone. Lance snapped his head up, matching eye-contact with the man down the hall, who had turned to inspect why Lance wasn’t following.

 

“Keith… you okay?”

 

_Keith?_

 

This time Lance fell for real, and no one was there to catch him.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

END OF CHAPTER 2


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.”  
> -C. S. Lewis
> 
> \+ - + - + - + - + - + - +
> 
> Keith and Lance get a taste of each others lives...

“Is he alive?”

 

“He’s obviously breathing, Hunk.”

 

“Are you sure? Tha-that could be muscle spasms. Does he have a pulse...?”

 

Keith groaned, feeling his cheek sting from the carpet.

 

“Yep, he’s definitely alive. Help me get him up,” Keith felt a pair of small hands wrap underneath his arms while a stronger arm pulled him from his waist.

 

Slumping into a chair, Keith opened his right eye; harsh lights flashed into his retina, inducing a severe headache. Keith covered his eyes quickly.

 

“Romelle, go get your sunglasses,” Hunk gasped, leaning forward to inspect Keith’s state, “I think this is most I’ve ever seen him hungover.”

 

“Where am I-,” Keith managed under his breath.

 

“You’re not in Kansas anymore,” Romelle giggled, placing a pair of massive sunglasses over Keith’s eyes. The glasses were barely effective in blocking out the stream of light, but hey, it was something.

 

“I’m guessing things didn’t go smoothly with Allura last night,” Hunk murmured. _Allura_?

 

“Wh-who the hell is Allura?” His voice was different.

 

“That’s the spirit, buddy,” Hunk said, gripping onto Keith’s shoulder, causing Keith to wince and fall out of his chair.

 

Keith’s head burst with anger; Hunk was a large man, but the fighter within Keith could take him. He’d won against competitors twice Hunk’s size.

 

Mentally preparing himself, Keith whipped his arms underneath his chest, planning on a powerful pounce. However, under his own weight, Keith’s arms collapsed. His whole body ached.

 

“Oh, heh, sorry…,” Hunk murmured, pulling Keith back into the desk chair. He could sense a glare through the ladies’ sunglasses. “I know you’re grumpy and _really_ bent, but I pulled a couple of strings for you last night.”

 

Keith glanced down to his body. He was wearing a crumpled dress shirt; his tie completely undone, hanging from his neck. His black pants and shoes were probably more expensive than anything Keith has bought in his life. Oh yeah, and his skin was about 3 shades darker.

 

_What type of dream is this_ -

 

“Boys, I need you to take notes during mine and Lotor’s meeting with the Galran’s,” The sound of a man’s voice boomed from the office doorway. Keith struggled to lift his head, matching the stare with the red-headed man.

 

“Hunk, what’s up with him?”

 

“I apologize, Coraaaaa-M-Mr. Smythe. Nothing out of the ordinary, he’s just a little tired.”

 

What an understatement; Keith felt like he had been dragged through fields of sharp rocks, only to be chucked into a pool of solid cement, followed by a long battering from an iron fist.

 

“42nd conference room. _Now_ , gentlemen,” Coran turned on his heels, strutting towards the elevators in a bouncing tempo.

 

Romelle headed to her desk, smiling sympathetically to Hunk as he sighed. Turning towards Keith, Hunk let out a low warning, “You heard the man. Don’t blow this, dude.”

 

Hauling Keith gently to a stand, Hunk led the way out of the office. Keith was in a whirl-wind of thoughts; wondering why this dream was so vividly real, trailing behind Hunk.

 

Keith was in such a trance he almost overlooked the name plate on the door.

 

_Lance McClain._

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

A package of an egg muffin collided the side of Lance’s arm, making his head snap to the driver side of the truck.

 

The same man who barged into Lance’s… or into a stranger’s… the place where Lance woke up, climbed into the driver’s seat, taking out a small coffee from the paper bag.

 

The two were somewhere in East Boston, overlooking the harbor. Lance stared at the clock; 8 AM. He moved his eyes down to the muffin glistening on his left. The cheese was starting to melt from the heat of the ham, perfectly contained between two fluffy buns. A gurgle rose in his stomach.

 

“It’s not poisoned,” the man chuckled as he watched the harbor, taking a sip from his cup, “but if it is, it’s a good way to go.”

 

Lance stared at the man a few moments longer, wondering if death was worth a muffin. _I guess it wouldn’t hurt_ -

 

Snatching the sandwich, Lance unraveled the muffin from its wrapping, delicately savoring each bite as he inhaled the food. It was… _celestial_. If there truly was a god, he made this sandwich pristinely from his own hands; crafting it to the delicate snack it persisted as.

 

Maybe Lance was just hungover, but he honestly could’ve cried.

 

Before he could dine on his final bite, Lance gazed with a mouth open back to the man in the driver’s seat, who held the coffee below his mouth; staring at Lance in disbelief. Lance realized the man was watching the entire time with a muted disgust.

 

Lance coughed, recognizing he looked like Gollum obsessing over a muffin. Hesitantly, Lance passed the wrapper with a single bite left to the man, eyebrows lifted. _Please, let me have this one thing_ , Lance faked a small smile and nod, signaling the man to the last morsel.

 

“I’m good,” he reassured, as his eyes widened back to his coffee. Feeling like a complete freak, Lance popped the final piece into his mouth, sighing as he watched seagulls fly over the body of water.

 

Lance couldn’t remember the last time he sat for a minute and watched the harbor. Seems like forever ago.

 

“Thanks, Shiro. _Wow,_ you really are the best,” Shiro said mockingly, closing his eyes in a proud chuckle, “giving me a sandwich without tomatoes and everything? You’re truly my greatest friend.”

 

Lance looked at his crumb filled lap sheepishly, “Oh, uh, yeah… thank you.”

 

Shiro raised an eyebrow at Lance, pausing for a minute, before looking back down at his cup.

 

“You weren’t… _fighting…_  last night, right?”

 

Lance turned his head towards Shiro, recognizing the meager fear in his voice. He was scared that Lance might’ve said yes. Shiro’s eyes were following the steam from his coffee, avoiding Lance at all costs.

 

Finally, Shiro looked into Lance’s eyes, searching for an answer he really didn’t want to find. Lance shook his head. To be fair, Lance really _wasn’t_ fighting last night.

 

So, what if Lance might’ve lied for this guy? All’s fair in Lance’s dreams; At least he felt like he was dreaming.

 

A faint smile tugged at Shiro’s mouth as he exhaled. Shrugging his shoulders, he correlated Lance’s behavior to the fact that Lance was _really_ hungover. “Remind me to never drink what you did last night.”

 

Chuckling, Shiro turned the keys of the truck, sending the car into a gentle roar. The two pulled out of the parking lot and merged onto the busy street.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

“How do you recognize a man of remarkable passion? Indescribable power? Immense dignity?” Lotor paced around the conference room, one hand behind his back while the other emphasized his words.

 

Keith was still wearing the sunglasses at this point, thankful that they disguised his puffy eyes. Hunk was sitting next to him at the massive conference table, furiously writing down every pronunciation that rolled off of Lotor’s tongue.

 

The only occupants in the grand conference room were, presumably, high corporate officers. Thankful for the name cards, Keith was able to match names with faces.

 

There was Coran, and his teeny assistant, Pidge. Lotor, was obviously the one presenting, marching around the table like he owned the place. A few non-essential interns were at the back of the room, also writing down notes.

 

At the furthest wall of the room hung a white canvas, with a suspending machine projecting what Keith assumed to be the Galran Empire’s spokeswoman.

 

She was an athletic woman, with short purple hair. Her hazel eyes never left Lotor’s space, deciphering his every movement. She was powerful; Keith could feel her energy radiating from the screen.

 

“The diamond business is not for everyone, but it _can_ be for anyone with a wallet,” Lotor concluded, stopping at the furthest end of the conference table, chest puffed in ego. Coran let out a clap, signaling others to join.

 

“Perfectly stated, my boy,” Coran gleamed, winking at Lotor, “So, Ms...”

 

“Krolia, please.”

 

“Krolia,” Coran slightly flirted, making Keith cringe, “what do you say?”

 

Coran stretched his hand out quickly, making a cheeky notion that the two were to fake a handshake.

 

_How cliché_ , Keith grimaced.

 

Krolia sighed, putting her hand to her chin, nodding slightly, lowering her eyes on Lotor.

 

“I hate it.”

 

Lotor spit out the water he was sipping from, causing the interns to gasp. Hunk stopped his writing, while Pidge readjusted her glasses. Coran turned a deep shade of blue, while Keith lifted his sunglasses from his eyes, curios.

 

“I-I beg your-,”

 

“The diamond business has relied on the ‘wealthy mans’ wallet for centuries. Let’s not beat around the bush; our most affluent customers simply don’t give a shit anymore,” Krolia glared, seething through Lotor’s armor.

 

“And frankly, we wouldn’t be coming to you if that style of campaign still worked,” Keith chuckled slightly under his breath. _Damn._

Lotor was at a loss for words, similarly next to a shocked Coran. Both of them stuttered out fragments of syllables, unsure of what to say next.

 

Suddenly, a sticky note tapped the side of Keith’s resting hand.

 

_YOUR TURN._

 

Keith glanced at Hunk, who was nodding his head towards a scathing Krolia.

 

Keith furrowed his brows, deciding the timing wasn’t really appropriate. But Hunk’s eyes widened, insinuating it was now or never.

 

_Screw it_ , Keith thought, _it’s just a dream._

“And what do diamonds represent to you?”

 

The room went silent, Lotor glared as Coran nearly snapped his neck towards Keith. “Lance…” Coran warned, putting his hand up to block Krolia from seeing his mouth move.

 

“Excuse me?” Krolia leaned forward.

 

“Because to me, when I see a diamond, I see,” Keith stood in his place, slowly walking towards Lotor, “someone who spent their paycheck on a rock.”

 

Keith gripped Lotor’s shoulder, wringing, sending Lotor to wince over into a chair nearby. Keith took his place at the end of the conference table, everyone staring back at him.

 

“Rich people know what diamonds are; they know they can afford an entire boat of them,” Keith raised an eyebrow, looking at everyone at the table, “and yet, the market hasn’t seen a dramatic increase of profit in over 40 seasons.”

 

Keith completely made that up. In fact, this ‘business man’ facade Keith dawned made him feel as if he was hiding behind a mask, pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

 

But the room seemed to be lapping straight out of his hand. “An untapped market wants to feel like they’re being payed attention to. Like when a company says they want you to buy their product, they really want _you_. Not some stuck-up ass in a penthouse.”

 

Looking up at Krolia, Keith sensed a small cock of her eyebrow. She was interested.

 

“A rich man knows his power over the diamond markets,” Keith shrugged, sitting back in the chair behind him. He crossed his legs and placed his hands together on top of his knee; a sweet power move. He knew the attention of the room was wrapped around his finger, “while a poor man is still staring starry-eyed at a ring he’ll never afford in a magazine.”

 

“Advertise to a wealthy man and he’ll think you’re just like the rest.” Keith paused.

 

“Show a poor man how important he is,” Keith cooed, watching Lotor and Coran’s jaws pop open slightly, “and you’ve got a customer for life.”

 

The room was entirely muted for a few seconds. Tension grew; what was Krolia going to say?

 

“Now that’s a pitch.”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Lance’s body seared with pain. Rubbing the back of his neck to relieve tension, he exhaled as he leaned against the bed of Shiro’s truck.

 

Watching Shiro negotiate with a store clerk, Lance realized this wasn’t a dream. _It was a nightmare_.

 

Instead of spending a day slaying dragons and rescuing princesses, Lance participated in _manual labor_. That’s right, 8 full hours of lifting weighty boxes in and out of semi-trucks.

 

Keep in mind, Lance was still hungover during the entire ordeal. He readied himself to jump off a cliff the minute he lifted his first crate.

 

But the work finished for the day, _not fast enough_ , Lance thought as he watched Shiro take an envelope from the store clerk.

 

Shiro walked over to Lance, pulling out the small wad of cash; their earn for the day.

 

“Your cut,” Shiro handed Lance a couple of 20 and 10 dollar bills, nothing more than 40 bucks.

 

“Dang, I could buy a good handful of gumballs with this,” Lance smirked, feeling his headache begin to thaw out.

 

“At least the money’s clean,” Shiro laughed along with Lance, slapping the side of the truck. “Come on, let’s get some gas.”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Keith roamed the aisle of candy bars; The absence of a craving for cigarettes left Keith in a shocked state. Yeah, this body probably wasn’t addicted to cigarettes like Keith’s, but… still.

 

Smoking is more of a mental thing at this point, at least for Keith. So, he felt refreshed.

 

Maybe he’d go for a caramel-toffee bar.

 

The conference room was in a state of mania after Krolia ended the video call, allowing Keith to slip out the back and make a long trip to the gas station next to his apartment. _Eh_ , the place he was crashing at.

 

Holding the bar in his hand, Keith realized he had zero money on him. And he felt like Lance wasn’t the type of person to steal.

 

“Listen, I can promise you, I’m not gonna take it. Just-,” Keith recognized that voice, “lemme borrow your cellphone. I’ll call my girlfriend, and then I’ll be on my way.”

 

Keith froze, in outright disbelief of what he was seeing.

 

The cashier popped her gum loudly, turning away from Lance to flip open a teen-magazine.

 

Keith stared in awe as his own body exhaled, leaning against the cashier’s counter, scanning the convenience store with a disgruntled look.

 

Keith stared into the eyes of his body as they moved from the chip aisle, to the candy bar aisle, to the-

 

Lance’s gaze snapped to where Keith was standing in the middle of the candy aisle; where Keith’s hand still held out the chocolate bar, pegged in place.

 

It was at this point the boys realized this wasn’t a dream. _This was real life_.

 

“ _You_ ,” Lance sneered, eyes filling with a violent rage, “WITCH!” Lance started to sprint towards Keith.

 

“Keith?!” Shiro flew through the store doors, investigating Lance’s shouting.

 

Keith turned to the candy box quickly, fumbling to put the candy past the cardboard; _come on come on come on…_

 

But it didn’t matter. Before Keith knew it, Lance had hurled himself into Keith’s side, sending both the boys crashing to the ground in one, massive move.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

END OF CHAPTER 3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.”  
> -C. S. Lewis
> 
> \+ - + - + - + - + - + - +
> 
> After the storm is when the flowers bloom...

Lance started to sprint towards Keith. “Keith?!” Shiro flew through the store doors, investigating Lance’s screaming. But it didn’t matter. Lance had hurled himself into Keith’s side, sending both the boys crashing to the ground in a massive fist-fight.

 

Yet, the minute Lance’s skin touched Keith’s jaw, the boys switched back into their respective bodies.

 

Back to his rightful body in a milli-second, Keith accidentally slammed his fist against Lance’s cheek, before he could effectively stop himself.

 

Strong arms wrapped around Keith’s chest, heaving him away from Lance. It was Shiro, trying his best to contain the brawl. More importantly, contain Keith’s temper.

 

The young girl at the cashier disappeared into the back room, dialing the police.

 

“Keith, what the hell?!” Shiro demanded, as he tousled with Keith’s strength.

 

But it wasn’t Keith who started the fight, it wasn’t him who drove the blow; It was Lance… in Keith’s… body- Jesus, _what the hell was Keith saying?_

 

Released from the pin Keith had him under, Lance struggled to his feet. Lance wiped a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth, something caused by Keith’s punch.

 

By the time Lance had stood, Shiro managed to pull Keith a reasonable distance away; however, Shiro let him go, finding himself falling back into a stack of papers from Keith’s momentum.

 

Lance paced over to Keith, who was crawling backwards in horror of the events that just occurred.

 

Watching someone physically stronger and taller squirm away gave Lance a major power trip, and the relief of being back in his own body awarded Lance a surge of adrenaline.

 

“What the _hell_ did you do to me, freak?” Lance exploded in a fiery burst of intensity as he watched Keith sprawled on the floor.

 

“What did _I_ do to _you_ ,” Keith stammered, adrenaline spiking into his veins. He was ready to fight, if Lance asked for it.

 

Lance scanned down his own body, checking for damage from Keith. He noticed he was wearing a fresh suit out of his emergency closet. Something Keith would only have access to if he was in Lance’s office.

 

“Did you go to _my_ work?” Lance was furious, clenching his teeth.

 

Keith could feel his blood boiling, “And what were you doing _here?_ ”

 

Lance stepped back, astounded; Keith had flipped the tables back against him, “Hey, hey, hey! I’ll ask the questions here!”

 

Lance looked around; the store was an utter wreck. Lance whipped his head to the young girl who emerged from the backroom, pointing a small pepper spray her mother probably bought her towards Keith.

 

“I’ve called the cops on him,” The girl shook, looking to Lance for direction on what to do next.

 

The truth was, Lance didn’t know what to do either. He gazed back to Keith and Shiro, both of the boys panting on the floor. Keith’s eyebrows were furrowed, while Shiro’s eyes pleaded for mercy.

 

This wasn’t Lance. Sure, he was angry and scared and confused; but Lance would never find pleasure in another person’s suffering.

 

“Forget it,” Lance exhaled, directing his tone towards the girl, “He’s not going to do anything else.”

 

Leaning in closer to Keith, Lance lowered his voice to match his Keith’s aggressive aura. He could see Keith’s knuckles turning white as they clenched the bottom of Keith’s jacket.

 

“Stay away from me.”

 

Lance steamed out the store, leaving Keith stunned and overwhelmed.

 

The girl dropped her pepper spray, “I’m definitely not letting you use my phone now.”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Lance barged through his apartment doors, passion and resentment fueling his burning head. _How dare he_ , Lance thought, pacing from his kitchen to his living room.

 

Ripping open the icebox, Lance snatched a bag of frozen peas. _Damn I have a good throw_ , he thought, icing the side of his cheek. Or was it Keith that had a good-?

 

A small ping sent Lance jumping. It was a text from Romelle, Lance barely noticed his phone taking shelter in his pocket this entire time.

 

_Congrats on the meeting, 36 th is going out for drinks later, but you might want some down time._

 

Lance sighed; he really appreciated Romelle and her strive to check in on him. In fact, he felt that-

 

_Wait_.

 

Congrats on the meeting?

 

Lance checked all his missed notifications. Almost every person on his floor congratulated him for his win on the campaign against Lotor. Lance’s head ached from confusion. What the hell did Keith do?

 

And then Lance’s heart stopped.

 

**Allura <3 | 4 MISSED CALLS**

Gulping, Lance brought the phone to his ear, closing his eyes. The phone clicked as Allura answered Lance’s call, but there was a slight pause.

 

“…Hello?”

 

“Allura, oh my god it’s so good to hear your voice,” Lance sunk onto the floor, his heart gushing with a feeling of relief. Everything was going to be okay-

 

“Lance, stop talking.”

 

Lance sat up, confused from her sudden change of tone. She sounded… cold.

 

“What you said hurt me,” Allura sighed. Lance rubbed his jaw, partially remembering his drunk phone call. _What the hell did he say?_

 

“I need time. A lot of it. I think we both do.”

 

“Allura, please, let me explain myself,”

 

“I just think we need a break. Take some time to figure out what we really want in our lives.”

 

Panic mode set in, Lance felt petrified. Allura was leaving him.

 

“But, wai-wait wait! Can’t we talk about this? I mean, please!” Lance scrambled, “there’s so much I need to say to you-,”

 

“I’ll think about it. But right now, I have a patient.”

 

And that was that. Lance knew he couldn’t say anything more to please Allura.

 

“Okay.”

 

_Click_.

 

Lance leaned back onto his cabinets, slowly lowering until he was lying on his kitchen floor.

 

_Great, the witch ruined my relationship, too._

 

Another buzz of his phone. Lance stood and placed his phone face down on the counter, knowing it might be Allura. He paused, but then decided he needed to see.

 

_By the way, you left a letter on the ground in ur office?? I had Hunk drop it off just in case! See you Monday. -Romelle_

 

Slowly turning his head, Lance’s breath stopped. There, in his kitchen basket, laid the crumpled letter. But this time, there was another piece of paper protruding from the edges.

 

A second letter.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Keith tried to slam the door on his way into the apartment, but Shiro’s foot stopped the collision.

 

“You have 1 second to explain yourself-,” Shiro raised his voice as he entered the space, watching Keith hastily strip off his jacket and shoes.

 

No answer. Keith instead chucked his clothes into a hamper, rubbing his face.

 

“You think this is a game? The cops almost showed up. I mean, _Jesus_ , Keith. For once in your goddamn life show a little-,”

 

Shiro stopped as Keith removed his hands, looking into Shiro’s eyes. Keith’s had started to form tears.

 

Relaxing his shoulders, Shiro looked down to the floor boards, rubbing his temple.

 

“I mean, you _rammed_ that guy to the floor,” Shiro murmured, “out of no-where!”

 

A siren off in the distance blared, Keith folding his arms in defense.

 

“What were you possibly thinking?”

 

Keith sighed, slumping down onto the tattered couch.

 

“I couldn’t explain even if I tried.”

 

“Oh yeah? Try me.”

 

Shiro sat right next to Keith, crossing his arms. Keith knew Shiro wasn’t going to leave until he was satisfied, something he admired in Shiro. Just not right now.

 

Keith breathed deeply, shuffling through a nightstand drawer next to him. Retrieving a ruffled letter, he placed it into Shiro’s lap, signaling Shiro to open it.

 

Shiro scanned the paper, brows furrowing, “McClain…”

 

“Died. Andres died.”

 

Dropping the letter to his lap in disbelief, Shiro inhaled sharply, “Keith…”

 

“And that guy in the store?”

 

Shiro turned his head to Keith, his expression blundered.

 

“That was his son. The son he hasn’t spoken to in 10 years.”

 

“Oh my god.”

 

Suddenly, Shiro’s phone rang, sending Keith to jump slightly.

 

“Hello?” Shiro exhaled, “Adam, I really can’t right-,”

 

“Yeah… yeah. Okay, I’ll be there in 10.”

 

As Shiro hung up the phone, Keith gazed at the letter on Shiro’s lap, noticing the corner on the upper left side had split in two.

 

“I _really_ want to stay and talk about this-,”

 

“C’mon Shiro, I get it. Tell Adam I say hi.”

 

Smirking, Shiro placed his hand on Keith’s shoulder, giving him a look that said, ‘don’t be a stranger’. He rose up, placing the letter to the spot he sat, pacing towards the door.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

 

The door clicked as it closed; Keith closed his eyes, leaning his head against the couch.

 

He didn’t know where to start. Where to even begin to sort through what the hell just happened. His mind was in fragments, every time he tried to piece something together, the bits seemed to break into hundreds of other thoughts. He ran his hand through his hair, feeling the heat radiate from his scalp.

 

His eyes snapped open to the sound of fluttering. A breeze from a nearby window shook the paper sitting next to Keith slightly, accentuating the split between another page stuck on the back.

 

Sighing, Keith reached forward, pulling the letters apart. The new page was different from the will. It was hand written, a small paragraph at the top. Keith already recognized the signature.

 

Andrés had written this.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

“Dear Lance,” Lance said.

 

“Dear Keith,” Keith said.

 

_I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I know where we left off was not ideal, but I only have so many more days on this earth,_

_and the one thing I refuse to conclude is that I couldn’t help you in the time that I have left. I’ve been watching you, for quite some time now._

_The direction your life seems to gravitate towards is far too similar to my own in most respects._

_Lance, you’re a business man, one who looks competition in the eye and spits on it._

Lance groaned at his letter, his father knew _nothing_ about him.

 

_Keith, you’re a man who knows when he’s being pushed around._

Furrowing his brows, Keith tried to decipher the weight in his chest.

 

_But you’re missing something. Both of you._

 

In sync, Keith and Lance inhaled sharply. _Both of us?_

_So, I’ve used every last ounce of my quintessence to connect you two in a way that you need. My life ends where yours can finally begin again._

_Enlisted are instructions of what I cannot teach, but what you must learn for yourselves._

_I may never be forgiven, however the danger that instills in a lifestyle of my composure would be of my greatest regrets._

_To life, to love, and to change._

_Andrés McClain._

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Lance flipped the paper, an intensity brewing in his heart. What the hell did any of this mean; why would Lance’s father suddenly inject himself into Lance’s life after 10 silent years?

 

At the top of the page inked the phrase; _Three Rules_.

 

_* Souls are to be switched at random, beginning at midnight. An entire 24 hours must be completed._

_* While the switch is involuntary, a skin-to-skin touch from either soul to the other will cause a temporary return until midnight._

_* All steps must be experienced together to break the curse._

 

_Curse?_ Lance’s mind raced a million miles an hour. And he had enough.

 

Still holding onto his letter, Lance trailed to his bedroom and flopped into his silk sheets, a slight throb at the back of his neck. He didn’t care about changing into his pjs. He just wanted to sleep.

 

Like, forever.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Keith skimmed to the bottom of the paper. A single command;

 

_Step one: Eat an XL Grill-Sargent Burger. Vrepit Sal’s._

 

As if on cue to the second Keith finished reading, a pain creeped into Keith’s skull. He propped his feet up, sliding down to lay his head on his pillow.

 

Peering out the window, the sun had set, leaving the day to rest. _Thank god_ , Keith thought.

 

He was tired of being confused, worn out from his head constantly spinning. In the morning, Keith would search for answers.

 

But for now, Keith was going to sleep until he couldn’t close his eyes for another second.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

A deafening siren sent Lance snapping upright.

 

Due to the lack of a roaring hangover, it took half a second for lance to scan up, down, left and right.

 

Lance was in Keith’s body again. And Keith’s body was in the same rank apartment as yesterday morning.

 

Sighing, Lance fumbled to his feet. _Does this guy ever wear new clothes,_ he thought, noticing he was wearing the same shirt and jeans as yesterday.

 

Lance decided to explore the place, in the name of finding a clean attire. He took the hint from waking up on the couch that this was not Keith’s apartment; therefore, closed doors were off limits.

 

There was no lie in saying the apartment was a dump. But it had _charm_. The sunlight hit the yellow of the walls in a way that cozily lit the room. There were dishes and containers everywhere, but if Lance had his cleaning kit and a cleared afternoon; this place could look _good_.

 

Spotting a wallet, keys, and phone on the kitchen counter, Lance swiped them. The wallet had an ID, the keys he recognized from Keith holding them in the tower lobby, and the phone he picked up had a background of Shiro and Keith.

 

_I guess they’re close, huh?_

 

Suddenly, there was a muffled crash behind a white door in the hallway. Lance snapped his head in the direction, heart beating loudly.

 

Moving foot after foot in a slow pace, Lance inched his way to the door, pressing his ear to the door.

 

Silence.

 

Lance jumped back as the door shuttered, the small groan of an animal behind it.

 

_YEET_ , Lance booked it down the hallway, taking shelter in a nearby bathroom. That was it for him, peeping a window above the toilet, Lance determined it was go time.

 

Climbing onto the seat, Lance could barely wrap his longest finger on the sill. Struggling for a few moments more, Lance’s efforts ended with a slip of his foot.

 

A coldness washed over his right foot, looking down Lance saw the horror.

 

“Oh god, are you kidding me?!”

 

Shaking his foot, Lance tried his luck again, this time standing on his tippy toes. Success met him while he squeezed through the port, falling into a bush of shrubs outside the window.

 

Lance jetted to his feet, swiping the broken leaves and sticks from him.

 

_Worth it_ , Lance concluded, as he made his way to the Boston subway.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Keith inhaled abruptly, pulling silk sheets closer to his body. His side was hugged pleasantly by a memory foam mattress. Aromas of pine and cologne swirled his nose, as the world was surprisingly silent; a change from the constant sirens in his neighborhood.

 

Opening his eyes slowly, Keith realized he wasn’t on his own couch. A letter was next to his head, addressed to Lance.

 

This was Lance’s apartment, Lance’s bedroom, Lance’s silk sheets; Lance’s body.

 

Keith peered around, finding himself lying in a lavish bedroom. Rising from the bed rubbing his eyes, Keith entered the main area of the apartment, observing the grand scheme of the space.

 

It was nice. _Really nice_ ; The kind of apartment that debuted out of fancy magazines, with its own loft space and two-story windows over-looking Back Bay.

 

Keith rubbed the back of his neck in awe. His headache was gone, and with a clear head Keith felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. Glancing down at his clothing, he saw Lance was wearing the same thing as yesterday.

 

After changing into a fresh wardrobe (eyes closed the entire time _, of course)_ , Keith yawned, returning to the main apartment space. He felt a grumble in his stomach; a sensation he’s known all too well.

 

Spotting an apple on the kitchen counter, Keith approached a beeping phone. It had to be Lance’s, as the background photo was Lance and a girl on the beach. They seemed… happy?

 

“Uh… this is,” Keith questioned whether he should say Lance’s name, but deciphered it’d be his best bet, “McClain?”

 

“Keith?” Keith could tell Lance had his hand covering his mouth as he spoke into the phone, as the audio was muffled. “It’s me. Or… _you._ ”

 

“Lance? What the hell is going on?”

 

“Okay, first of all,” Lance sounded slightly offended, Keith imagined Lance holding up a finger in protest, “I don’t like how you’re using my name.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes, “you want me to answer your phone as Keith?”

 

There was a silence, Keith was sure Lance’s mouth was popped open, trying to think of a comeback.

 

“Can you tell the desk clerk to let me in,” Lance finally said, “we need to talk.”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

 

Keith opened the door to Lance standing crossed armed with an eyebrow cocked.

 

“Are you gonna tackle me again?” Keith asked.

 

“This is, uh, MccLaiN?” Lance mocked Keith’s voice, filing into the apartment.

 

Keith trailed Lance’s heated marching into Lance’s closet. Lance ruffled through his clothes, finding a crisp shirt and clean pants.

 

In his rummaging, Lance lost grip of a coat hanger. Keith reached out to grab it, almost making skin-to-skin contact with Lance.

 

“Wait!” Lance shrieked. Keith froze, eyes wide open, letting the coat hanger fall from his hand.

 

“Quiznak, _what?_ ”

 

“We’ve only got a few hours left until the switch wears off,” Lance pleaded, slowly backing his hand from Keith, “just- humor me, and don’t touch me.”

 

“I wasn’t purposely trying to touch you-,” Keith was interrupted by his own shirt smacking him in the face.

 

“I see you know how to get dressed in _my_ clothes,” Lance said, pulling a new shirt over his head.

 

“You changed into my clothes too,” Keith said, shaking the rejected shirt in his hands. It was different from the one Keith fell asleep in, but it was still Keith’s; He recognized it from the corner of his apartment floor.

 

“Yeah, _dirty_ clothes.”

 

Keith scoffed. He’d never met anyone so stubborn, so headstrong, _frustrating_.

 

“Speaking of, I don’t know how I like the thought of you seeing me…” Lance raised his eyebrows, tilting his head down while crossing his arms, “… _naked._ ”

 

Keith balled his fist, finding great offense in what Lance was implying. However, Keith’s temper seemed to be missing today, so after taking a breath, he leaned against the closet door frame.

 

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to shower more than once a week.”

 

“I’d be nice to me considering I’m in _your_ body,” Keith exclaimed, feeling his head grow a little hot. Maybe his temper was still there.

 

Lance opened his mouth, ready to demolish Keith with a comeback. But nothing came to mind, and the two sat in silence for what felt like hours.

 

“What are we going to do, Lance? I mean, this is _crazy_.”

 

Keith looked up to see Lance running his tongue along his top teeth while he scanned his closet ties, weighing his options.

 

Then, he whipped his gaze back to Keith.

 

“You hungry?”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

END OF CHAPTER 4


	5. Chapter 5

** Chapter Five **

 

“What are we going to do, Lance? I mean, this is _crazy_.”

 

Keith looked up to see Lance running his tongue along his top teeth while he scanned his closet ties, weighing his options.

 

Then, he whipped his gaze back to Keith.

 

“You hungry?”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Lance watched an autumn leaf blow in the biting air, slowly swirling to a snug spot on the side walk.

 

He could relate to that leaf; a cold gust of life taking you to lands of unknown, placing you on foreign soil that you then learn for yourself.

 

With a sound Lance swore he could hear, the leaf was suddenly crushed underneath the shoe of a pedestrian.

 

 _Same_ , Lance thought.

 

The restaurant Lance chose was enjoyable, hints of exposed brick and fairy lights made him feel transported into a Brooklyn hipster’s dream. It wasn’t a cheap place, but it was fair enough for Lance to insist on paying.

 

“Did you guys need more time?” An older woman approached Keith and Lance’s table. Lance looked to Keith unsure, lowering his eyes to signal that Keith should go first.

 

“Yeah, I’ll just have a black coffee.”

 

“Uh, I know for sure I,” Lance paused, catching himself before he could slip, “I know for sure _you_ didn’t eat much yesterday, and you’ll want all the strength you can get. Order whatever you want, _Lance_. I’m treating”

 

Keith raised his eyebrow at Lance. While Keith’s shyness gave Lance a sense of belief a small coffee would get Keith by, the shaking of the table from his grumbling stomach wasn’t fooling anyone.

 

“Okay,” Keith bit his lip, looking at the menu again knowing he could have anything he remotely desired.

 

“I’ll have the blueberry buttermilk pancakes with a side of scrambled eggs. Then an order of hash browns, hold the ketchup. And then can I get-,” the waitress and Lance stared at Keith in awe.

 

Lance was about to interject, but Keith’s eyes lit up every time he saw something delicious on the menu. And Lance did say he would treat.

 

“-and a glass of orange juice.” Keith smiled politely at the waitress, eyes brightly shining.

 

The waitress coughed, grabbing Keith’s menu and turning to Lance. “And for you.”

 

“French toast,” Lance said after a pause, his eyes never leaving Keith.

 

“Coming right up.”

 

The waitress departed quickly, incase Keith suddenly ordered something else. Lance shifted in his seat while Keith traced the rim of his glass with his index finger.

 

“So, are _you_ going to work off the calories from all that?” Lance sighed, semi-joking.

 

“Right. Sorry, I just rarely get treated,” Keith said, continuing the trailing of his glass, “especially not at places like this.”

 

Lance frowned slightly.

 

“Listen,” Lance said in a serious tone, leading Keith to look up, “I’m sorry about… you know. The whole ‘jumping on you’ thing.”

 

Silence filled the table as Keith put his hand down.

 

“I had one of the worst days of my life before we switched. And when I saw you,” Lance paused, “I mean, when I saw _me,_ I didn’t know what to do. This temper rose over me, kind of like it was controlling me. I lashed out without thinking.”

 

Keith knew that temper all too well.

 

“I shouldn’t have done it, it’s not who I am. So, I’m sorry.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Keith gave Lance a small smile, genuinely appreciating his apology, although he had a rough time showing it.

 

“So,” Lance retrieved Keith’s letter from his jacket pocket, something he had noticed and swiped from Keith’s couch, “I suppose we both got one of these.”

 

Nodding, Keith swallowed.

 

“I read over it a hundred times on the subway. Andrés tied us together with his remaining ‘quintessence’, whatever that means. Just so that we won’t end up like he,” Lance’s eyes shifted as he realized almost said ‘is’, “ _did_.”

 

“It doesn’t make any sense. How? When? Why us-,”

 

“How did you know my father?” Lance was direct, and to the point, almost interrupting Keith.

 

Lance sent a stern look to Keith, making it clear he expected the truth. But Keith was busy staring down at his glass.

 

“He helped me out of a bad situation… a long time ago.”

 

“That’s vague.”

 

“Funny, all those years ago and he never mentioned you,” Keith’s eyes whipped up, but Lance’s expression never moved.

 

“Touché.”

 

The waitress pulled up to the table, lightly setting down the French toast in front of Lance. She smiled as Lance said thank you. After swerving around the corner, the waitress returned with a tray stacked with food; _All Keith’s_.

 

Landing each item with little care in front of him, the waitress hmphed as Keith thanked her.

 

Lance watched Keith slowly take meager fork-fulls of breakfast into his mouth, gradually chewing.

 

“You got this far, don’t let me stop you-,”

 

With that, Keith tore into his food, hastily cutting up chunks to shove them in his mouth efficiently.

 

Lance sighed, picking at his French toast, feeling a twinge of sadness he wasn’t as passionate about breakfast as Keith.

 

After the immediate hunger in the boys was fulfilled, Lance determined it was time to get down to business.

 

“So, how long does this body thing last?” Keith asked as he bit into a slice of toast.

 

“According to the letter we switch for 24 hours at random. Anywhere, any day. But it always starts at midnight; it’ll never be mid-day when it happens.”

 

“We didn’t do a full 24 hours yesterday…”

 

“Right, because we touched… when I hit you,” Lance sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, “the second rule says skin-to-skin contact reverses the switch until midnight that night. And then we have to stay switched until 24 hours is completed.”

 

“What if we just kept touching each other?”

 

“I’m going to ignore how creepy that sounded,” Lance cocked an eyebrow, making Keith partially choke on his toast, “I’m guessing we’d just keep switching at midnight until, eventually, 24 hours is completed.”

 

Lance continued, “but think about it logistically. We’d have to somehow see each other every single morning to keep it going. We both have work and live in separate areas in Boston. It’d never work.”

 

“So, we’re really just going to have to live a day in each other’s bodies? Until 24 hours is over?”

 

Lance nodded. “Speaking of- five… four… three… two,” Lance gazed up from his phone clock, smiling while waving at Keith.

 

Instantly, in a flash of white, Keith and Lance were transported across the table, returning to their own bodies. A sudden wave of peace waded within them; the feeling seemed like returning home after a long journey.

 

“Oh, _Goddammit!”_ Lance shouted, stopping the bustle of the entire restaurant. He cowered over, holding onto his gut. “Jesus, Keith! What are you, _a friggin’ squirrel_ hoarding up for winter?!”

 

Keith sighed, leaning back. Keith’s body was still a little hungry.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

After paying the check, Lance suggested the two take a walk into Boston Common. Lance stated Keith owed him one since he tried stuffing him to death.

 

“I can’t do this, Keith. I have a job, responsibilities. I can’t keep waking up wondering where I am for the rest of my life.”

 

“You think I signed up for this? Come here,” Keith snatched the letter from Lances hands. Lance moved behind Keith, reading the paper as Keith followed the bottom line with his finger. “We break the curse by completing each step. The first one is… a ‘Grill-Sargent’ at Vrepit Sal’s?”

 

“That I couldn’t figure out,” Lance said, scratched his head as Keith turned back towards him.

 

“And the third rule… we have to experience the steps. Together.”

 

Lance cocked an eyebrow, trying to analyze Keith’s reaction to the rule. The boys were silent for a couple moments, both of them searching for what to say.

 

The silence was broken as Lance stretched out his hand, “Looks like we’ll be sharing a lot more than bodies, Keeeeeith…?”

 

Lance dragged out Keith’s name, hoping for Keith to fill in the final blank.

 

“Kogane.”

 

“Lance McClain,” Lance put down his hand, realizing Keith wasn’t going to shake it, “but you already knew that.”

 

“So, what’s our next move?”

 

“I guess a Vrepit Sal’s, wherever that is. My car’s around the corner, we could head to a library or google-,”

 

“I’ve got plans,” Keith interrupted.

 

“And I have a body you keep slipping in and out of. Focus on priorities right now.”

 

“I can’t be jetting off with you to fulfill some higher order, okay? Especially when my everyday life depends on it,” Keith was surprised by the anger in his voice.

 

“I can’t either,” Lance massaged his temple, “but what choice do we have?”

 

Keith rubbed the side of his arm, observing a small kid sail a boat in a nearby pond. Lance followed Keith’s gaze, spotting the same child. For a long moment the two watched in peaceful silence, until the boy’s mother called him away.

 

“Fine, but we should exchange phone numbers and passcodes,” Lance remarked, watching Keith’s eyebrow arch, “so we can call each other when switches happen.”

 

“And maybe set ground rules, like who we can talk to, what we can talk about.”

 

“I’m free tonight. We can get dinner and set a plan for Vrepit Sal’s.”

 

“I’m guessing it’s my turn to treat,” Keith said, a slight panic in his voice.

 

Lance crossed his arms, “with what? I’ve seen your wallet, man. Two dollars and a soy sauce packet isn’t gonna cover much…”

 

Keith wasn’t sure whether he should feel offended or violated, his eyes widened with shock.

 

Instead, a small chuckle slipped from him, turning slowly into an infectious laugh. Lance gazed at him, cocking an eyebrow at first, but then deciding his joke was comedy gold.

 

As the two snickered, a cold breeze moved Keith’s bangs out his face; A sudden swirl of nostalgia filled Lance’s chest, like they’d been here before. Laughing together.

 

“So, uh, what’s up with your weird apartment?” Lance shrugged the feeling off.

 

Suddenly, Keith’s phone rang, making both the boys slightly jump.

 

“Oh _shit_ ,” Keith stammered, “Shiro!”

 

And with that, Keith booked it in the opposite direction from where the two entered the park.

 

“I want my clothes back!” Lance yelled, giggling as Keith almost rammed into a tree from looking back.

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

By the time Keith made it to the harbor, Shiro had already packed up most of the shipping containers onto a small boat platform. A few boxes remained by the side of the dock, but Shiro had completed most of the grunt work.

 

“Look who decided to show up,” Shiro half-joked, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

 

“I’m sorry, Shiro, I…” Keith wasn’t sure how to finish his sentence. Usually he and Shiro told each other everything… but switching bodies with another human was new territory. “…Long story.”

 

“It’s cool. More profit for me,” Shiro bent down and grabbed another box, wincing from the weight. Keith joined; himself stepping back from how heavy the containers were.

 

“Jesus, what’s even in these things?” Keith huffed as the two finished relocating all the boxes. It only took a couple minutes to finish off the last of the work, and Keith could feel a singe of guilt in his chest that he couldn’t have done more.

 

Keith was the worst at keeping track of time, but when Shiro needed help, Keith prioritized it.

 

“Fishing equipment and some lobster cages I’m guessing.” Wiping his hands on his pants, Shiro turned to Keith. He reached into his pocket and fished out his wallet, soon deciding that since he did the bulk of the work, Shiro was going to keep all the money from this shift.

 

“Eh, you owe me for the muffin anyway,” Shiro grinned, placing his wallet back. Keith also smiled, but he couldn’t help but notice the fret in Shiro’s voice.

 

“What muffin?”

 

The air promptly shifted from a cool, fall breeze to a frigid and intense wind, causing both of them to shift uncomfortably. “The muffin… from yesterday. When you were hungover…?” Shiro slowly explained, squinting his eyes at Keith. “Hey, uh…you okay?”

 

The fact that Lance lived an entire day in Keith’s body smacked Keith in the face, making him rub his neck anxiously, “Oh! That muffin. Right, right.”

 

Shiro tilted his head slightly, giving a more concentrated stare.

 

“No, I’m uh… I’m doing fine.” That was a lie. Keith was freaking out. “Just getting over my hangover still.” That wasn’t a lie.

 

“Right,” Shiro sniffed, “Last time we talked you mentioned Andrés McClain? Something about his son?”

 

“Oh, yeah…”

 

Shiro crossed his arms, expecting Keith to elaborate.

 

“I mean, I haven’t really talked to Andrés in a long time. And I think I just took out my frustrations on his kid. I’m over it now…” Keith stared at the wooden planks, making sure not to show the nervousness in his voice, “It’s really nothin’.”

 

Finally meeting his eyes, Keith furrowed his brows, signaling to Shiro he didn’t want to talk about it.

 

Normally, Shiro would say ‘fuck that’ and force Keith to spill his guts. But Shiro could tell this time was different.

 

Way different.

 

“Okay.” After a moment of silence, Shiro grabbed his jacket from a dock post, swinging it over his shoulders, “I gotta run to the mechanics. You need a ride back home?”

 

Considering the setting sun and the hour walk- slash-  30-minute subway treck back to his apartment, Keith almost instantly climbed into Shiro’s truck.

 

Instead, he shrugged, running his hand through his hair, “Nah, I got a couple of errands to run too.”

 

For a second, Shiro slightly opened his mouth, about to question Keith’s distance. After a long pause, Shiro closed it, sucking on his top teeth.

 

“I’ll let you know when the next gig comes up,” Shiro sighed with a small smile. He grabbed his keys from his pocket and headed towards the car. Keith shifted as Shiro clambered into his truck, started the ignition and slowly backed out of the harbor parking lot.

 

Anger and embarrassment boiled at the base of Keith’s neck, driving him to lift a large stone from the ground, and hurling it into the cold waters. The splash sent a couple birds flying. He breathed heavy for a minute, trying to prevent himself from screaming his lungs out.

 

He hated this. Keith hated what was happening to him, with a burning passion. What was his life now? How could he stay friends with Shiro when Keith couldn’t even tell him the truth? How would Lance know the things only Keith and Shiro experienced together?

 

_How?_

 

Looking around, the docks were barren and deserted, except for a couple seagulls ruffling their feathers together to keep warm.

 

It’d been a while since Keith had stayed after-hours at the docks. The normal work routine involves showing up on time, keeping your head down and doing your work. Then you leave when it’s completed; onto the next job that will buy your next meal.

 

But Keith kind of liked this; staying behind with no need to be anywhere. He watched as the birds on the dock squawked, as the waves slowly licked the banks, as a couple small fish swayed in the currents. It was quiet. Peaceful.

 

If there’s one thing Keith’s life could not be described as, it was peaceful; so this was a nice change to say the least.

 

“Hey stranger,” A low, raspy yet familiar voice bounced on Keith’s ear, stiffening him. Keith didn’t need to turn around to know there was a snake behind him.

 

_Eh, it was calm while it lasted._

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

Some people enjoy binging on television, strenuous hikes, or classy restaurant adventures on their days off.

 

But not Lance. Lance found himself back at work after his breakfast with Keith. The body snatcher.

 

_But then again, I’m also a body snatcher._

 

Altean Advertising was basically empty on Saturday’s; all the corporate officers and artists and secretaries had crept home to their apartments and houses, refueling their energy before another week in the ‘Shark Tank’.

 

Lance strolled through the gigantic lobby, feeling swallowed by the massive, vacant space. His footsteps echoed against the beams; there was something soothing about being alone in an area usually teaming with people.

 

Sliding into the elevator and pressing the 36th floor, Lance mentally counted off the things he knew, and the things he didn’t.

 

_Things I Know:_

_No. 1: Keith Kogane and I switch bodies._

           

He shuttered thinking that this was now his life.

 

_One Thing I Don’t Know:_

_No. 1: Why._

 

The elevator doors started to shut. Lance leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and breathing in.

 

Just as he breathed out, a hand shot through the elevator cracks; a small woman eagerly paced through the opening, standing beside Lance. She shuffled her papers and adjusted her glasses, pressing the 42nd floor.

 

Lance opened one eye to look at her, realizing it was Pidge, Coran’s assistant.

 

“Hey! Pidge.. right?!” Lance said, a little too excited.

 

“Yeah,” Pidge nodded, pausing for a second before saying, “it’s weird not hearing Pidgeon.”

 

Both of them chuckled, and Lance could feel himself leaning against the wall again.

 

_Things I Know:_

_No. 2: Pidge is pretty cool._

 

 

“What are you doing here… it’s a Saturday.” Pidge raised an eyebrow, adjusting her glasses again.

 

“I could say the same thing to you,” Lance smiled warmly. He’s always liked Pidge. “I have nothing else to do on a Sunday, so I might as well work.”

 

Pidge was a no bull-shit type of girl. Even though Coran ordered her around like the commander of an army, Pidge never seemed to lose sight of herself. In truth, a CEO is only as powerful as their assistant, and Pidge took the cake for most influential assistant.

 

“Coran’s making me scan his entire diet plan… again.”

 

“What is it this time? Veganism?”

 

“That was last winter,” Pidge snorted, “this time he’s trying the Keto diet.” Lance raised an eyebrow. “He only eats butter and chicken thighs, no carbs or sugar,” Pidge continued.

 

“Jesus, that sounds fun.” Lance’s eyes widened as he grinned.

 

“Yeah, he’s definitely not the happy Coran _we all_ _know and love_ ,” Pidge chuckled. The two laughed as the elevator slowly reached the 36th floor.

 

Stepping out, Lance turned back to face Pidge who was already reaching for the ‘close’ door button. “Well, good luck with that. See ya around, Pidge.”

 

“Yeah. And congrats on your pitch!”

 

That brought Lance to;

 

_Things I Don’t Know:_

_No. 2: The pitch._

 

The elevator doors began to close before Lance forced his hand between them; Pidge straightened herself, fairly shocked.

 

“Hey, by the way,” Lance croaked, swallowing hard, “what was the pitch again?”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

“What… you forget or something?”

 

Keith was frozen in place, his body had rejected the thought of moving, of turning around and facing what he knew lied behind his shoulder. Keith listened as the voice tracked from behind him to his side, slowly moving until the voice stood in front of him.

 

_James._

 

“Keith.”

 

He grinned from ear to ear, showing off his porcelain teeth. If James’ canines were any sharper, he’d look exactly like a vampire would; fair skin, brown hair slicked back from grease. He wore a black leather jacket and black jeans, paired with shoes that looked expensive; One look at him and you’d might suspect he was a mafia member on his day off.

 

But that’s exactly who he was. “What a nice surprise.”

 

Keith swallowed hard, involuntarily fluttering his eyes. It wasn’t that Keith was scared… Keith was fixed- suspended in place and unable to move, even though he desperately wanted to.

 

That’s the power James had over Keith. And if anyone knew it, James did. James moved closer to Keith, judging him up and down. “What- not gonna talk?”

 

“What’s there to say?” Keith managed to mutter. He ground his back teeth so hard, he wasn’t sure if his molars weren’t dust by now.

 

Raising an eyebrow and slightly chuckling, James circled Keith. “Hello, hey, hi, how are ya? The basics would do.”

 

Keith turned with James; The two appeared like hawks circling each other in the sky.

 

Finally, James stopped. Tapping his heel to the ground and shoving his hands into his pocket, James gave an amplified laugh. “Ya still not over our little tiff, huh?”

 

Keith practically forgotten James’ thick, Boston accent. Viscous like honey- no, _poison_. “The fight where I almost died?”

 

“Hey man,” James raised his arms in a hug position, approaching Keith, “Potatoes, potahtoes. What doesn’t kill ya makes ya stronger.”

 

Keith huffed as he crossed his arms and glared through James. Frowning, James realized Keith wasn’t going to hug him.

 

“Yeesh… tough crowd,” James pushed past Keith further down the dock, reaching a private yacht Keith had noticed earlier. James swirled on his heels, facing Keith- smiling again. “Ya comin’?”

 

A few days ago, Keith would have screamed no. He would have turned around, flipped James off (of course after pushing him into the harbor), and walked away- never _ever_ returning to the docks.

 

Somewhere within his mind, Keith knew things were different. Maybe it all changed when Andrés died, or when Keith relapsed.

 

Or maybe it was when he woke up in Lance McClain’s fucking body.

 

But things _were_ different now, something he couldn’t deny. Soon Keith found himself trailing after James, like a moth to a flame. A scorching fire that might just be the end of him.

 

 

 

 

“How’d you get a yacht?” Keith stammered as he entered through the main cockpit after James. He’d never been on a boat this extravagant- he felt over-stimulated trying to take in the beauty of the vessel.

 

Every nook and cranny gleamed and shined; Keith felt wrong for even breathing the air.

 

“Amazing innit’?” James puffed his chest out with his hands on his hips, “Sadly, not mine. It’s the boss’s.”

 

“The boss’s?”

 

“You still fighting these days?” James looked seriously at Keith.

 

Keith’s heart stopped for a couple beats. His breath shortened, as he glanced back at James.

 

“No,” he said sternly.

 

“Ya sure?” James rose from his seat, gliding his fingers along the side of the boat, casually making his way towards Keith.

 

“There’s a new ring the boss started. And she’s fair, Keith. No cuts to your pay,” James started to chuckle as he ran his tongue across his teeth, “and the pay- _insane_. Better than it’s ever been. You should see what we rake in…”

 

“I don’t fight anymore,” Keith interrupted through his teeth, jutting out his lower jaw.

 

James tilted his head at Keith, sighing. There was a small amount of space between him and Keith now, but Keith only turned his head, refusing to face James fully.

 

“How’s the dock jobs treating ya then, huh?”

 

“Fuck off,” Keith shoved James’s shoulder away from his side, only to have James clasp his hands around Keith’s wrists, pulling him in closer. Their chests touched, and Keith felt a rise of panic in his head.

 

James flipped Keith around, slamming him against the yacht wall; a couple photo frames and empty glasses crashed to the floor. James had a slightly larger and fitter build than Keith, and Keith hadn’t fought in over a year, giving James the upper-hand.

 

“Ooo, watch it Keith. Boss doesn’t like fights outside of the ring.” Keith struggled under James’ weight. The walls were starting to close in on Keith, adrenaline spiked through his veins, pumping within his blood.

 

Lowering his head into Keith’s neck, James carefully traced his lips along a line from the base, to the tip of Keith’s jaw. Keith winced, grinding his teeth.

 

James’ breath was hot against Keith’s neck, making his hairs rise.

 

Breaking free of his hold, Keith ripped his hands from under James. Heading for the door, Keith heaved his jacket back on, fire imploding from his head.

 

“I know you’re not making anything!” James snarled, wiping his lips on the back of his hand while turning towards Keith’s back. “These side jobs you’re doing, only pay so much.”

 

Keith stopped, debating whether he should turn around and sock James in the face. _For good measure._

 

“And I know that hunger you feel…” James cooed, provoking Keith to turn on his heels, meeting James’ sneer with a lowered glare. “It’s that need for a rush… maybe you’ve turned to the bottle or whatevah.”

 

A flash of pain seared in Keith’s brain. He knew exactly what James was talking about.

 

“But that’s not enough, and it’ll never be enough, Keith. You need that adrenaline. You need to _fight_!” Keith swallowed, clenching his fists.

 

Gradually walking towards Keith, James lowered his voice. “You’re not living Kogane. You’re surviving- _at best._ And we both fucking know ya can’t stand that.”

 

By the time Keith could react, James had already placed a card in Keith’s rolled fist. “There’s always a fight coming up. And boss wants you in.”

 

Leaning into his ear, James traced the edge of Keith’s jacket before exiting through the cockpit door. “Legend has it the red lion never loses…”

 

Keith looked down at the card James positioned in his hand. All it read was a number and a name.

_Haggar_.

 

“He doesn’t.”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

 

“I said that? _Me?!_ ” Lance gasped.

 

Pidge looked through Lance’s emergency suits closet while Lance leaned back in his chair- running his hands through his hair in amazement.

 

“Yeah. It was kinda amazing,” Pidge snorted, looking from one garment to another. “How do you not remember any of this?”

 

“Oh, I uh-, was really hungover,” Lance back tracked while Pidge shook her head, laughing.

 

“I can’t believe it, I _really_ said that to a Galra representative,” Lance put his hand to his chest, suddenly feeling _very_ out of breath.

 

“It was awesome. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lotor that angry,” chuckled Pidge, she made her way to sit in the chair across from Lance’s desk. “But I have to say, it was really out of the blue…”

 

Lance raised an eyebrow at Pidge, curious. “I mean, I just never thought of you as being aggressive in the business room. The way you commanded the room and put Lotor in his place- it’s never been done before,” Pidge leaned forward, gawking.

 

“You and me both,” Lance squeaked, covering his eyes with his hands. He felt embarrassed, like he shouldn’t have acted out of place- even though he wasn’t technically in the meeting.

 

Uncovering one of his eyes, Lance gazed down at his pitch plans. Even though it wasn’t his doing, Lance still _got_ the pitch. Over Lotor. Suddenly, Lance concurred that this occasion was to be celebrated.

 

Something in the room vibrated and beeped; Pidge jumped in shock, Lance stared her down with furrowed brows.

 

“Coran’s beeper… sorry,” Pidge giggled to herself. “Ugh, I gotta go.”

 

After collecting her items from Lance’s desk, Pidge grinned before heading out to the elevators, “If you ever need any more help with your presentation, let me know. I’m pretty good at dealing with Coran… and computers.”

 

Lance muffled his laugh with his hand, rubbing his face while trying to figure out a new plan for his pitch Keith luckily saved yet _ruined._

 

Then, Lance thought about Keith.

 

“Hey, wait! Pidge?”

 

“Yeah?” Pidge’s head peeped back into Lance’s office.

 

“What do you know about Vrepit Sals?”

 

+  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +  -  +

END OF CHAPTER 6

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @QuinnAttack  
> (Art) Instagram / Twitter: @Colleens_Arts
> 
> \+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +
> 
> Hi there! This is my first fan-fic, so I just first want to say thank you for reading my story. Season seven killed all my hopes and dreams, so here’s my little corner of the VLD fandom where I can keep calm. 
> 
> A few things to note include;  
> -Some things canon in the show are not canon in this fic. It is very much an AU. I can’t say much w/o spoiling, but just know some relationships and power statuses will be changed to better suit the world I’m trying to create.  
> -Lance is not his usual goofy self for the first couple chapters, for a reason. #It’sNotAPhaseMom
> 
> See ya next time! xoxo  
> Next Update: Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at 12pm PST.


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